


Ledges

by jawnlovesjumpers



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cute, Gen, Kid!Lock, Kidlock, Teenlock, platonic, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 12:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1266766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jawnlovesjumpers/pseuds/jawnlovesjumpers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both houses had ledges, and the ledges are what brought them together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ledges

The house was full of windows, full of edges and crawlspaces, shapes and colors. There were so many things for a child to find interest in, so many things for a child to explore. But the child of the house was only interested by one thing: the ledge under the window of his bedroom.

It would be appropriate to say that the child of the house was a bit strange, different, but no less than you or I. No, if anything, he was much more. He was incredibly intelligent, far above his classmates. Though, of  course, he did not have actual classmates; he was home-schooled. He did not like his parents, not at the time, but he did respect them, and he listened to everything they said at all times. His elder brother, however, he did not like, nor did he respect him. The child was never happy. He hardly ever left the house, and was often left there by himself, with the nanny. He had always wished he could perhaps have a neighbor, someone with whom he could confide and play pretend with. But the house next to theirs always seemed to remain unoccupied. His nanny told him that the house was bad, that bad things had happened there before, and now bad things would happen to anyone who moved in, which was why it had stayed empty for so long. But the child knew that there was nothing to this; it was mere make believe, and he knew better.

 

One day, as the child peered outside the front picture window in the sitting room, he saw large trucks in front of the neighboring house.  _Someone is finally moving in_ , he observed. He secretly hoped that there was a child with them as well, so that he could have a friend. Every night, he watched the house from his bedroom window. Sometimes he sat out on the ledge and watched through the neighbor's window, hoping to catch a glimpse of something.

But he saw nothing, until the third day of moving. He sat in his bedroom, watching grown-ups bring in boxes, large and small, into the room across from his. He could see a portion of the room perfectly, because the houses were aligned that way. After the boxes were all moved in, a small child, perhaps of the age of five, and with brilliant blonde hair, came into the room. The child perked up at this, and almost scrambled out of his window and onto the ledge.

The neighboring house also had a ledge, and the two ledges were only feet away from touching. The child sat at the edge of his ledge, waiting for the blonde boy to see him. After all the grown-ups left the room, the blonde boy finally caught sight of the boy outside his new window. He smiled widely and struggled to open his window, resting his hands on the dusty windowsill when it was finally open.

"Hi!" the blonde boy said happily, leaning out of the window a bit.

"Hello," the other boy answered simply.

Although he was happy to have a new neighbor, he concealed his emotions,  as he had always been taught to do.

"I'm John," the blonde boy said, stretching out his arm as he had seen his parents do so many times before.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Well it's nice to meet you, Sherlock Holmes," John answered, giving him another bright, toothy smile. "I'm your new neighbor."

"Obviously," Sherlock answered with the roll of his eyes.

"John!" came a voice from far away.

"Oh, that's my mummy. I've gotta go," the blonde boy said, turning around quickly without shutting the window.

Sherlock could hear his footsteps pounding down the stairs. He sighed, looking into the boy's room for a few long seconds before turning around and crawling back in his window, back into his own room.

~~~

Over the next few days, Sherlock watched as John's parents cleaned and painted the blonde boy's room, covering the walls in a light green color. He could not see all of the room, but from what he could see, his parents must have loved John very much, because they were spending a lot of time making his room look nice. Sherlock looked around his own room, at the plain white walls and the bland grey sheets on his bed. He deduced that his parents must not love him very much -something he had guessed for a long while now- because they did not spend any time on Sherlock's room when they moved in.

Sherlock's older brother, Mycroft, found Sherlock watching the grown-ups in the other house once, and told Sherlock that it was spying, and that he could not do that.

"But I like watching John's parents," Sherlock said defensively. "They love him very much, I can tell."

Mycroft watched as the two adults worked on painting the walls. "Sherlock, just because they're painting his room does not mean that they love him."

"But they spend so much time on him! Unlike Mum and Daddy," Sherlock said, crossing his arms and huffing in jealousy.

"Mother and Father love us both plenty," Mycroft answered with a sigh.

For some reason, Sherlock did not believe him.

~~~

It was a rainy day in London, and Sherlock felt as alone as he ever had. He sat out on his ledge, hugging his knees and hiding his face. John came up to the window and saw Sherlock. He pushed the window open and stuck his head out.

"What's wrong Sherlock Holmes?" he asked, his body now halfway out the window.

Sherlock did not answer.

"Are you sad?" John persisted.

At this, Sherlock nodded his head.

"Why are you sad?" he continued, crawling completely out of the window and sitting on his own ledge, only a few feet away from Sherlock.

Sherlock shook his head, causing his curly hair to bounce a bit. John was transfixed on this for a moment.

"I like your hair," he said, looking at it with wide eyes.

"Thank...thank you," Sherlock answered, and it sounded more like a question.

"But anyway, why are you sad?"

"Because everyone is so stupid."

"Not  _everyone_ is stupid, silly. Surely not all of your friends are stupid."

"I don't have friends."

"Well...I'm your friend," John said, situating himself on his knees, leaning forward, resting his hands on the ledge to steady himself.

Sherlock looked up, eyes widened in confusion, and he sniffled.

"But...but you don't even know me."

"Nonsense," John answered, smiling. "You're Sherlock Holmes."

"But you don't know me  _well,_ _"_ " Sherlock protested.

"I don't have to know you well to be your friend."

Sherlock sniffled again, and wiped away a tear that trailed down his soft cheek.


End file.
